


The Knight Before Christmas

by orphan_account



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16995816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A Christmas story, in which Nick asks LaCroix to perform an unspeakable act . . .





	The Knight Before Christmas

What did Murphy's Law say? Whatever could go wrong, would, and at the worst possible moment?

Five hours before the start of the event, a fire had started in a ceiling fan at the same restaurant that had donated its facilities for the Police and Fire Department's annual Christmas party for underprivileged children. By the time the fire was discovered, it was too late to save the roof, and smoke damage had rendered the structure temporarily uninhabitable.

But the cookies, cake, candy, punch and ice cream had been ordered - and at that time of year, it would be impossible to reschedule the event. And, even more importantly, roughly 100 kids were expecting a Christmas party.

Nick knew he should keep his mouth shut - or at the very least, call LaCroix first and ask him. But, good judgment was never his strong point. Besides, the Raven didn't really come to life until around 10-11 pm, by which time the children would all be tucked safely abed for the night.

"I know a place..." he offered.

And so it was that LaCroix emerged from his living quarters, impeccably attired as ever, to find his club festooned with streamers, balloons and - he winced at the sight - a Christmas tree!

Directly or indirectly, a vampire had to be responsible, and he quickly scanned the milling throng of revelers for the culprit. He spotted Urs, Screed, Vachon and... Nicholas! His own Nicholas!

Urs didn't party with mortals and not even vampires partied with Screed, so they were probably there with Vachon, who no doubt was there at the invitation of Nick's partner, and who would not have dared to do this, anyway...

"NICHOLAS!"

Startled, Nick dropped the silver icicle ornament he was holding, and the hook had the misfortune to catch his belt buckle, leaving the icicle dangling from a rather conspicuous location.

He attempted to nonchalantly disengage it while facing down LaCroix at the same time.

LaCroix's gaze was as frosty as the icicle.

"Do I dare even ask what is going on here?"

"A party?" Nick answered hopefully.

"Do elucidate..."

Nick explained everything. LaCroix's expression didn't change.

"Please, LaCroix. They'll be out of here by nine ... ten at the latest, and Screed, Urs and Vachon have agreed to keep the... uh... regular clientele out of the place until then. There won't be a problem."

"There already _is_ a problem, Nicholas, but I suppose the remedy is beyond our reach at the moment... Very well..." He stuck an accusing finger in Nick's face and wrinkled his nose when he spoke, the way he did when he wanted Nick to know he was really mad. "Never, and I do mean _never_ , take such a liberty again!"

As he turned and walked away, Natalie Lambert whispered the name "Scrooge" under her breath. LaCroix was certain that she thought he hadn't heard it, but Vachon had to know that he had, and even so, the young vampire chuckled in agreement.

_This_ would not be forgotten...

Readjusting his stride to maintain some semblance that he was still in control, LaCroix headed for his CERK booth and shut the door behind him.

\+ + + + + + +

Just when it seemed that the party would go off without another hitch, Nick saw Tracy brandishing her cell phone at him. The look on her face told him the news was not good.

"It's Capt. Reese... He slipped on a patch of ice on the way to his car and is at the Emergency Room. Nothing serious, but he'll need stitches. No way he's going to get here in time!"

This was just great! The amply-built Reese was supposed to don the Santa suit that was waiting in the Raven's dressing room.

Nick had to think fast. The only adults present that the kids in the crowd hadn't become familiar with by that time were the three other vampires, who had contented themselves to stand in the background and do their job of keeping the undead at bay.

Nick dragged Screed and Vachon off into the dressing room and pulled out the suit.

Screed scoffed openly. "Sa'ee Claus?? Sa'ee Claus? I 'ope yer no' expectin' yours-not-so-truly to deck ou' as the fa' an' jolly one, Nicky-mate, 'cause if ye are, ye go' egg-nog in yer brain-basket!"

Vachon was a bit more succinct. "No way, man."

Nick didn't like it when things went wrong. It thinned his patience.

He grabbed the two younger vampires, one in each hand, and shoved them against the nearest wall. "You'll do it if I _say_ you'll do it."

The gift of intimidation was one thing for which he could thank LaCroix. The two vampires each took a turn at trying on the suit, but Nick was forced to submit to the reality that the wiry Vachon and the scrawny Screed simply were just not physically imposing enough to pull it off.

He'd have to wear the suit himself, even though the effect would be ruined since most of the kids would know it was him.

Unless... 

\+ + + + + + +

Nick thought he knew the meaning of Fear until he saw the look on LaCroix's face after he asked he question.

"You want me to do... _what_?"

Nick lifted the red suit sheepishly. "Please, LaCroix, it's for the kids."

"I cannot abide children!" 

"It's only for a little while."

"Nicholas, if you don't leave here, _now_ , and take that ridiculous attire with you, I assure you, you _will_ regret it."

"LaCroix, _somebody_ has to be Santa Claus. The kids are counting on it. Besides, it's Christmas. If you can't do it for them, do it for... me."

LaCroix's gaze softened a bit as he ruminated over that one. Not that he was weakening, but rather because he was considering that having Nicholas in his debt might be worth a few minutes of humiliation.

He grabbed the suit. "If _anyone_ finds out about this, Nicholas..."

Nick put up his hands. "They won't, LaCroix! I promise!"

\+ + + + + + +

LaCroix waited in the shadows for Nick to announce that Santa had arrived. The less he had to be seen in the ludicrous costume, the better. It was bad enough that at that moment, he was having to tolerate the immediate presence of Urs, Vachon, Natalie Lambert and Tracy Vetter.

Urs smiled at him affectionately, her face an open book. It actually warmed her cold little vampire's heart to see him dressed that way. Well, she was young and stupid, what did she know?

Tracy Vetter had no idea who he was, so paid no particular attention to Vachon, who was trying his best to contain hysterical laughter. Dr. Lambert, too, was attempting to douse a case of the giggles with a glass of fruit punch.

This was really beyond endurance, or so he thought until Vachon approached him boldy and fingered the beard.

"Hey, LaCroix," he giggled, "did you ever know a pirate named Benito Bonito?" he asked.

LaCroix slapped his hand away. "Certainly not! I do not fraternize with riff-raff, or at least I didn't until _this_ life-time." He glanced pointedly at Vachon, who apparently didn't make the connection, because he continued.

"He had a big, long beard just like this one, and he used to weave these little monkey skulls into it." More giggles.

Didn't the impudent little wretch realize he was all but begging to be staked on the spot?

LaCroix glared even harder. "What is your point, exactly?"

Vachon, finally realizing that LaCroix was looking at him with murder in his heart, cleared his throat and really, _really_ tried to stop laughing.

"Uh... nothing, it was just kind of cool, that's all."

A man identifying himself as Detective Logan walked up and shook LaCroix's hand.

"Thank you for doing this. It's a life-saver. But a word of advice. Most of these kids are in foster care, on welfare, etc. etc. Don't promise them anything, okay?"

LaCroix barely had time to acknowledge the statement before Nick made the excited announcement that Santa had arrived.

LaCroix tried to maintain what was left of his dignity as he was ushered through a sea of tiny mortals who all seemed to want to grab hold and hang on to him.

Tracy Vetter took her post beside him, where she had been assigned to fill helium balloons and pass them out to each child in succession. LaCroix noted that Vachon, Screed and Nick remained in close enough proximity to enjoy the spectacle that was about to take place at his expense.

_That would not be forgotten, either._

__

__

\+ + + + + + +

The children had been assigned numbers at random and were to be called individually for their audience with Santa.

The first to be brought to him was a wide-eyed little girl about 4 years old.

Now, children were often quite good at sensing that vampires were not the ordinary humans they appeared to be, and it was clear by the look of wonder on the child's face that she was picking up whatever emanated from them that provided that information. But, her mindset was on Santa Claus, not vampires, and her infant brain came to the conclusion it wanted to. 

"Are you _really_ Santa Claus?" she asked in awe.

LaCroix cleared his throat, and attempted a forced smile. "I assure you, I am as real as Santa Claus gets."

The child continued to stare at him in rapt admiration, but finally said, "Well, aren't you going to ask me what I want for Christmas?" 

"Yes, of course. What do you want for Christmas?"

The little girl proceeded to recite a litany of greed that rivaled that of his Roman contemporaries.

It gave LaCroix an idea. 

He caught Urs' attention, motioned for her to come to him, and then told her where to get a pen and paper.

One after another, they were brought to him, sticky and reeking with the smell of too many sweets. It was absolutely nauseating, although most of them took care of business and happily went on their way.

One small boy about seven, with large black eyes, and no front teeth, asked him what Urs was doing.

"She's writing down the list."

" _You're_ Santa. _You're_ supposed to remember," the boy chastised him. 

"Nonsense. What do you think I have elves for?"

The boy looked at Urs suspiciously. "She doesn't look like an elf." 

"Indeed? How many elves have you seen?"

"Uhh... none."

"Well, she's an elf. Santa Claus doesn't lie. Now what do you want?" 

"I want my mommy to get out of jail."

LaCroix was taken aback by that one, and glared soundly at Nicholas, who could only shrug helplessly. Still, if the crime were not too heinous, it could be arranged...

"I'll see what I can do," he promised the youngster, who surprised him with a hug that left a trace of cake frosting right under his nose. It was so repugnant, he almost called a halt to the proceedings right then and there. He was furiously wiping the confection away when he found himself staring into the belligerent face of an eight- year-old demon incarnate whom everyone there that night had noticed. He was the uninvited son of a police officer whose nature was equally acrimonious. They were both bullies. 

The boy gave him the raspberries, followed by a solid kick to the shins. "You're not Santa," he said with contempt. "There's no such thing as Santa. My daddy says you're nothing but some dick-head in a cheap costume." 

"And _who_ is your... daddy?"

"Detective Jake Waggerman, and he could kick your ass." 

LaCroix grabbed the child, and made it look affectionate, which it was not. He'd watched this same miserable little creature hurl disrespectful comments at adults all evening, as well as remind the other children present of their lowly station in life. He was a mean, rotten, little brat. In 20 or so years, LaCroix might look him up and bring him across, but right then, he needed to be taught a lesson.

His grip was such that the child couldn't even begin to struggle as LaCroix hoisted him up onto his lap. 

The first hints of intimidation clouded the little boy's face when he realized he could not get free or even move.

"I've heard that you haven't been a very good boy," LaCroix said. 

The defiance returned. "Up yours. So what?"

"Sooooooo," LaCroix intoned. "Do you know what happens to the bad little boys on Christmas Eve?"

"Don't tell me I won't get anything. I _always_ get something." 

LaCroix laughed, and the child cringed. LaCroix asked Tracy to pass him an untied balloon. He held the neck between his fingers to keep it inflated. 

Keeping his voice too low for other mortals to hear, he asked the boy, "Do you know where your navel is?"

Another hint of uncertainty crept into the child's voice. "My belly- button?" 

"Did you know that it can be untied, like a knot?"

The child was incredulous, but stammered, "It can?"

"And do you know what will happen to you if I untie it while you sleep?" 

LaCroix gazed fixedly at the child and let go of the balloon, which zipped madly about the room until it landed in a deflated heap on the floor in front of them.

The child gulped, and strained in LaCroix's grasp.

"I'm gonna tell my daddy," he sobbed.

LaCroix briefly allowed his eyes to flash red when he stared the boy down. "Santa... is not afraid... of your... _daddy_."

Once released from the vampire's grip, the child fled, wailing in terror, but at a safe distance managed to look back and spit "YOU SUCK!" an instant before Screed tripped him.

There were certain rewards to this, LaCroix conceded. He'd sit on the beach at high noon before he'd sink to the level of ho-ho-ho, but he actually managed to greet the next child with something resembling congeniality. 

The child, a boy about three, danced nervously from one foot to the other. "I have to wee-wee."

LaCroix looked at Vachon, remembering the young vampire's earlier outburst of jocularity at his predicament.

"See him, right over there? He'll take you."

"I'm not supposed to go with strangers."

"He's not a stranger. He's an elf, too."

He pointedly ignored Vachon's frantic attempts at body language meant to signal that he wanted no part of this.

The child approached Vachon expectantly. Vachon didn't even know where the restrooms at the Raven were. The two most common biological occurrences requiring their use were exceedingly rare events for a vampire, and he hadn't been puking drunk since the last night of Woodstock... .

Seeing his dilemma (although, he noted, not actually sympathizing with it) Urs helpfully pointed the way to the Men's Room.

LaCroix gave her a conspiratorial wink, and proceeded with the task at hand. 

Finally, the last child slid from his lap, and LaCroix was about to make his exit when he noticed Detective Logan attempting to organize the final event of the evening, a reading of a condensed, scripted version of Dicken's "A Christmas Carol." Apparently, this job was supposed to have fallen to the missing Capt. Reese, so the preparations were in chaos.

LaCroix, unable to tolerate disorganization in any form, to say nothing of being anxious to get the party over with, took charge of the scripts and began passing them out. Unlike Logan, he refused to accept _'no'_ for an answer. He made certain Nicholas got the part of Bob Cratchit. No doubt the character of the pathetic poltroon was the role of his dreams.

In a short time, all of the parts had been assigned except for Tiny Tim. LaCroix gave Vachon a withering look. He hadn't forgotten being laughed at. 

"LaCroix, please... " the Spaniard groaned, just before LaCroix shoved a copy of the script at him hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

While they took a few moments to familiarize themselves with their parts, Tracy distinguished the various cast members by placing absurd Santa's-elf hats on the head of each one. LaCroix had had quite his fill of that, and tacitly refused to keep his on. He made a point to comment on the ones Vachon and Nick wore, however. They both looked so satisfyingly foolish.

In due course, LaCroix began to read, and a hush fell over the crowd. Even the tiniest child was mesmerized by that deep, resonant Nightcrawler voice of his.

In turn, and with varying degrees of enthusiasm, his fellow story- tellers embellished the tale with the necessary dialogue. 

Came the time for Tiny Tim's first line, however, and Vachon delivered it in his normal, low-timbred speaking voice.

LaCroix slapped him on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Vachon rubbed the spot.

The old vampire looked out over the audience of young faces. "Do you think that sounds like Tiny Tim?"

100 small voices shouted "NO!" in unison.

Vachon repeated the line, a higher pitch to his voice this time. 

LaCroix smacked him again, this time causing the elf's hat to fall over Vachon's eyes. " _Tiny_ Tim..." he hissed.

Vachon choked out the lines a third time, with a pre-adolescent squeak that sent Screed to the floor convulsing with laughter and incited paroxysms of unbridled mirth in Tracy Vetter.

Vachon surreptitiously kicked Screed and gave Tracy one of his many Looks. The one that said, _'I should have drained you when I had the chance.'_

LaCroix considered the Spaniard's debt to his compromised ego repaid by the time Vachon had gagged on the final infamous line, _'God bless us everyone.'_

The party was over. The Raven was his again.

Nick, Natalie and Tracy remained and began to remove the decorations.

"Leave them," LaCroix ordered.

"It will only take us a minute..." Nick began.

"I said... leave them. I've taken rather a fancy to them."

The trio pulled on their coats.

"Thank you, Mr. LaCroix," Tracy said. "You saved us."

LaCroix nodded. "It was... a pleasure."

Natalie Lambert audaciously patted his cheek. "Good night... Santa," she chuckled.

"Thank you, LaCroix," Nick said sincerely. "I owe you." 

"Indeed you do, Nicholas... Indeed, you do."

Nick wondered, briefly, why LaCroix wasn't more angry with him, but on the way home in Nick's Caddy, the three of them heard LaCroix launch into that evening's monologue, and Nick suspected it was not the one he had planned.

_"'Tis the season, gentle listeners, the season to give, and in so giving to receive. Pity those wretched souls who assert that they have nothing to give and no one to give to, when there is so much that has need of being shared..."_

Between breaks in the musical selections, LaCroix turned on his computer. The first thing he did was arrange for the immediate release of one Viola Lindsay, incarcerated on a charge of shoplifting, from the city jail in time to be reunited with her son for Christmas. All charges would be dropped. In fact, all of her paperwork, including her previous police record, would disappear.

That accomplished, he dug out Urs' list. Internet shopping was such a boon to those who, for whatever reason, could not make it to the malls. 

In no time at all, he had arranged for every gift on the list to be in the appropriate hands by Christmas morning. This included - at no small expense - a gift-wrapped box of live crickets to be sent to the home of that horrid little Waggerman urchin. 

He added on a complete set of motorcycle leathers for Vachon, an extravagant gift card for Urs (for what did women, both mortal and vampire, love to do more than shop?) and a week at the Luxor in Las Vegas, all expenses paid, for Screed. A dozen - no make that _three_ dozen long-stemmed roses for Natalie Lambert and Tracy Vetter, each. 

When it came time to pay the proverbial piper, he entered Nick's Visa card number. Naturally, he knew all the verification information. He was LaCroix. He knew everthing.

And with this task accomplished, he settled down for his day's slumber. 

His dreams were not of sugarplums, but of the look that would be on Nicholas' face when he checked his card balance.

Yes, it was a very Merry Christmas, indeed.

THE END


End file.
